


My Favorite Slave

by TrashAYfanfiction



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Castrati, Castration, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, prequel fic, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashAYfanfiction/pseuds/TrashAYfanfiction
Summary: How Wez finds his pretty boy.Shameless self indulgent writing
Relationships: Golden Youth/Wez
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	My Favorite Slave

**Author's Note:**

> Mad max road warrior fanfic
> 
> Wez/golden youth
> 
> Golden youth deaf and mute and castrated. Golden youth is the gunner on the back of Wez’s bike.
> 
> Notes: My attempt at an origin story. Homoerotic, but light romance. I had bigger plans for this story, but am finding myself without the motivation to do it. Attempt of this story is for Wez to transition from seeing The Youth as a disposable object to a valuable object (I’m not going to be generous enough to say).

……………….

The traveling merchant caravan was just asking to be robbed. A huge tractor trailer. It took forever to run down. Too many wheels. Stab one and it kept going.

Eventually the vehicle careened and rolled over. Like a dying beast.

The living quarters in the cab had nothing.

The trailer was disappointing as well. Soft fabrics, shiny baubles spilled. Nothing useful. At least the tank was still good to siphon guzzalone and parts.

Inside the trailer he found The Youth, black loincloth around his hips, wrists chained, and hanging from the ceiling now that the truck had rolled. Desperately trying to stay balanced on a tumbled crate, lest his shoulders support his entire weight. Tousled bleached golden hair.

There were two others.

One’s arm was broken. Twisted from the crash. The mangled boy was breathing heavily. His long dark hair knotted away from his face, anguish easily readable. Adrenaline would change to shock soon.

The last looked unconscious. A more natural looking blonde with short hair. Somewhat athletic in build, compared to the other two. A frame that would have filled out had it been fed more. Broad shoulders were bony and fragile.

All three were sinewy young men. Pleasure slaves, he couldn’t believe his luck.

The thrill of the hunt always got Wez hot. The slaves were young and supple, ripe for the taking. He cursed nature only allowing man to nut once before calming. The choice was difficult.

The golden one was so precariously positioned. It would be fun to push him into hurting himself…

But raping an unconscious body while the other two looked on…..

He liked when his prey struggled.

He chose the broken arm….

The slave’s feet scrabbled against the floor as Wez approached.

Wez didn’t bother cutting him loose. The broken arm was twisted further.

The wet heat around his cock. It was a rough fucking. The grip of the man’s asshole was tight. A rough pounding tearing blood for lubrication.

They boy screamed, rattling Wez’s bones with excitement. Shrill, voice cracking.

The golden youth’s eyes were wide, watching, but he made no sound. Wez hadn’t known at the time that this would be the only expression from him.

The hollering had died down, but slave under him was still blubbering. Snot and tears ran down the pretty face. Breath shallow and quick.

His spasms milked Wez’s dick.

He nutted so hard he saw stars, smacking the ass in satisfaction.

He left the boy on the floor, sweaty and twitching, eyes wide. He’d die soon. There was only one here worth keeping.

The blonde twisted precariously on the crate.

…..

Wez found some bolt cutters to claim his personal spoils. Wez climbed the rubble.

The golden youth didn’t recoil as he approached. Still teetering on the crate, but becoming fatigued. He was a pretty little thing.

“Stay,” A warning that he’d just as willingly take the bolt cutter to the youth’s fingers instead of the chain. The boy nodded. Only blinking as the metal teeth crimped through the link. One. Then the other. He caught himself as he tumbled to the floor, flinching as he rolled into the unconscious body. He eyed it cautiously.

“Yo, wanker. Follow me,” Wez pointed at him.

Wide eyes stared, but obediently he was followed. Hands re-tied before mounting the bike. He didn’t seem like the type to grab one of Wez’s arrows and stab him, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

Wez looped chain into a makeshift collar for good measure. Admiring the way the flaking chrome lay against protruding collar bones.

_Hold on or be dragged. Watch your skull pop off your spine._

……….

The ride back to camp was uneventful. The slave cautiously held onto his belt, aware of the warning.

Wez was always riding high after a raid. Adrenaline easing down, but still sights, and smells, and feelings heightened.

Slim legs gripped the bike behind his, knees pressed up against his thighs. A nearly naked slave boy. Wez salivated. At slower speeds Wez could feel shallow breathing on his neck.

Oh all the fun things he could do with one of his own.

….

At camp his shackled catch for others to envy. The boy’s pale skin was beginning to singe in the heat. Shoulders reddening. He was also skipping steps to avoid the hot sand on his bare feet.

It would have the same effect as slicing his feet so he couldn’t run away…. But the kid has nice long toes, high arches…. Wez hoisted him over his shoulder, carrying him back to his tent.

It was small, secluded. Modest, but it’s waxed canvas kept the worst wind out, and it’s poles were sturdy iron.

That night the kid sucked him. Enthusiasm of not wanting to die. Never said a word though.

Wez would have came harder had he not just had his fun.

The boy licked the spunk off his mouth. Pink rosy lips glossed with translucent fluid. He wanted to kiss that mouth. Taste himself, feel it give under him.

But things like that were too good to do to a slave. ..at least to a new one, don’t want it to start thinking it’s too important.

He wasn’t so dumb to deny that slaves thought. Free sluts on the other hand…only dick on the brain, easy to read those bitches.

He chained the boy in the corner. Not letting a hot little thing like that run off.

He was going to deny that he was a slut. He wasn’t _only_ motivated by his dick. He threw a blanket at it so it wouldn’t freeze in the desert night.

that night he dreamed of it’s mouth.

…………………..

It was obediently waiting for him in the morning. Shivering huddled in the blanket, but not daring to claim or displace any of the other textiles within reach. Wez liked that. Almost made him feel bad for chocking him on his morning wood.

The boy nearly passed out while Wez was fucking his face. Hands in those blonde locks, pulling them into handles. Oh god, those would be great to pull while fucking him.

They boy dry heaved and gagged next to the pole. Wez griped about acrid substance soaking into the dirt of the tent, kicking it to mix with the rest. Reminded himself to throw a hubcap or something near the slave for puking next time, because god that was a good fuck.

His own breakfast was thin grits and half a lizard.

The boy was trying not to look at it longingly.

Wez conceded he should probably feed him.

The plate of food clattered against the stool he used as a table.

“You got a name?”

The youth looked at him.

“Yo, stupid, I asked you something. You got a name?’

More blank expression.

“if you wanna eat, you answer me,”

The youth nodded, opening his mouth, pointing to it.

“Yeah,” Wez sneered.

Rhaspy exhale. Almost a sound.

Oh, he’d give it some fucking water.

Slim fingers carefully took the cup from his, brushing gently against his skin. So delicate. Timid. It turned him on.

The water was downed gratefully, both hands clutching the cup. Not a drop spilled. Pink tongue attempted to reach the last drop in the bottom. Turning the cup to improve his reach. He wondered how it would feel for that to be in him; teasing his rim, curling his toes.

He shook it off.

He reached out his hand and the cup was returned. A slight smile in the corner of the boy’s lips.

…was this a game.

“Your name, or I’m going to call you Sissy boy,”

Head tilted to the side, but no other response positive or negative.

The fucker could definitely hear him. “Open your mouth,” Everything had felt ok in there while he was fucking it, no tongue cut out, or jagged rotten teeth, but might as well investigate. “You bite me and I slid your throat,” he fingered the handle of his bowie knife. The boy nodded and parted his lips, pressing his tongue forward for the examination. He should have him hold this pose while waiting for a facefull of cum.

Wez wasn’t a medic, but everything looked ok in there. No weird growths or spots.

He smacked the boy upside the head. “You stupid or something?” Smacking the machines sometimes worked, reconnect something that had warped apart…

The boy whined, but didn’t reply.

Wez was getting frustrated.

“Listen or I’ll cut your fuckin nuts off!” He grabbed the boy by the hair, throwing him into the pole of the tent where he crumpled.

The youth flailed. Wez’s hand grabbed the front of the loincloth.

Thin wrists were easily peeled away as the cloth was yanked up. raising the boy’s hips. Milky skin stretched over grippable bone.

Sack, empty, puckered with scarring. A limp pink cock, indicating it had been clipped before full maturity.

Wez snorted, “Ah, they already got you, didn’t they,”

He threw the loincloth back down in disgust, slightly disappointed. It would have been fun to torture him, or at least threaten to. Grab him by the nuts when he misbehaved, listen to him holler and whine. …….If he misbehaved, because up till now, his previous master had trained him well.

The youth watched him with those big deer eyes, watery and dumb. An animal.

Wez shook his head. He hadn’t wanted a pathetic pet.

He shook the youth by the hair, receiving only the slightest wince. “I told you to speak! What do you want me to take next? Your fucking toenails?!”

More meek protests.

The youth gulped for air like a fish. Desperately trying.

When he finally got a sound out, it was an inhuman bellow, flapping lip movements, unaware of what it was imitating, but trying all the same. The surprise of it gave Wez shivers.

He dropped the boy, conceding it didn’t talk. That might be a good thing though. Peace an quiet. A few of the men had chattery sassy fucktoys. Those grated his nerved just as much as useless doormats.

…At least this boy was good at sucking dick.

Wez still grumbled. He’d never been one for naming things.

He’d settle for “Boy” “You” whatever, as long as it answered.

The rest of the tribe took to calling him ‘Wez’s boy”.

“Don’t touch Wez’s boy, you’ll get your fingers off.”

……………………..

Eventually the fact that it didn’t talk made his dick hard. Soft skin, pert nipples. Most of his teeth intact, but were never felt during a blow.

Overall the boy listened, mostly, as long as he was looking at you.

Not quite as useful as a dog.

He still beat the snot out of the kid. Assuming the truancy of orders was disrespect.

But he always listened when he was looking at you. Your face, your gestures. Reliable under those circumstances. Tasks were carried out meticulously.

He became a fixture at Wez’s side.

At first Wez wasn’t above bartering with him. Trade some sex with his slave for new bike parts. They boy didn’t seem to mind.

Afterwards Wez felt like his dick was on fire.

It was better to have a personal slave.

No more bartering.

They boy cuddled up to him. Secure in his owner. Around this time Wez gave him a collar and allowed him to walk relatively freely around camp.

The others knew who he belonged to, and the boy knew he wouldn’t survive on his own.

……………………………………………………………………….

The slave was mostly unmarked when it arrived. Some faint scarring. A feminine bird drawn on it’s shoulder. Wez instructed the tribe insignia to be placed on the other shoulder. Ownership, but community.

He would never belong anywhere else.

The slave didn’t struggle when the ink was layed into his skin. Wez wanted it more supple than an iron brand.

…………………………………

Eventually he rode with them on raids. Clinging to the back of Wez’s bike. The clan was out of bodies, a plague had swept through camp and they need more to complete the raid.

The slave held a pickaxe.

Weak arms. The weapon spun out of his hand on the second collision with an object.

………………………..

The boy grabbed a pickaxe and the man went down.

Wez was…. Awestruck. His sweet submissive twiggy mute…. A whipped dog.

He wouldn’t say it was fiery. Mechanical, soulless. But effective. A skill he never imagined the youth to posess.

…………………………………..

They rode many times. Glorious, bloody.

…………………..

He felt the weight drop off the back of his bike.

It was never really a person. But still a companion.

His stomach dropped.

He turned around.

Rage.

He mourned.

Feelings he didn’t understand added to his rage.

And oh, that elevated the bloodlust. Whatever was mixing with adrenaline was good drug. But he’d rather not go through the trouble to get it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how i did. this is my first time writing this pair and i feel like this is unfinished-ish.


End file.
